


The Last Dance

by LaurenWritesFics



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, One Shot, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 10:46:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29998176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaurenWritesFics/pseuds/LaurenWritesFics
Summary: Following on from the events of Avengers: Endgame, life as newlyweds gets off to a rocky start for Steve and Peggy. Memories come flooding back, and they find themselves forced to confront their trauma. Sometimes, moving forward means taking a few steps back.
Relationships: Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers - Relationship
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	The Last Dance

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: Any reference to existing copyrighted/trademarked companies/characters is done so without intent of ownership. The sole ownership of Captain America/Steve Rogers/Peggy Carter remains with Marvel.
> 
> This story must not be posted, reproduced or altered in any way without the express permission of the author.

It’s closing in on midnight in the dark corner of a near-empty bar in Brooklyn. A waitress clears a beer stein and wine glass from a dusty table. She stands and watches the two lovers by the jukebox, swaying cheek to cheek. She doesn’t have the heart to tell them to leave quite yet. She’s mesmerized.

The collar of Steve’s dress shirt is undone, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Peggy’s hand is on his chest, fingers pressed against warm skin. Even with his arm around her in a graceful slow dance, she can feel his strength. He always held her like this. Tender. Protective. She sighs as the subtle scent of his cologne drifts across her face and mingles with her perfume. Neither of them know when, or if, they’ll have the chance to do this again. Steve’s hand is on the small of Peggy’s back. He pulls her closer into him. They breathe in a singular rhythm. 

The music stops, but they’re still dancing. A cool breeze rushes through the open double doors.

“Walk me home, Captain Rogers.”

_That’s an order._

They say goodnight with a chaste kiss. Peggy watches Steve walk away, jacket slung over his shoulder. He turns under a streetlamp to give her one last smile.

Then, darkness.

Rattling metal. A bomber plummeting to the ground. Bursts of flame. The crackle of a dying intercom.  
  
_Silence._

* * *

Dawn breaks along a quiet street in Washington, soft sunlight warming the porch of a Craftsman bungalow. The door is slightly ajar. The morning paper sits by a potted plant.

Peggy wakes in a fog, rubbing her eyes so hard that a few rags fall from her hair, a few dark waves breaking loose, pins dropping onto the quilt below. Hauling herself out of bed, chest heavy, she pulls the curtains open. The Packard is still there.

The kettle whistles to a boil on the stove. She jolts.

Steve enters the bedroom, leaning against the door frame. His hair is tousled, eyes bright. He knows something’s wrong. The floorboards creak a little beneath his feet as he approaches the window.

“Steve?” Peggy’s breath hitches.

Steve brushes a lock of hair from Peggy’s face and cups her cheek.

“I’m right here, Peg.”

Was she still dreaming? Her hands start to tremble.

“We danced last night…” Peggy’s voice trails off.

“We sure did.” Steve’s eyes are glistening. He takes her hand and rubs soothing circles on her skin.

Peggy looks down and places her other hand atop Steve’s. Warm. Solid. Real. The shaking subsides.

Steve grabs the paper from the porch. He’s already poured his morning coffee and Peggy’s cup of tea. The radio on the windowsill hums. Sammy Kaye, ‘That’s My Desire’.

“Four years, Steve.” Peggy clears her throat. “You were dead.”

Steve doesn’t look away from the paper. ”I know.”

With a swift swipe, the paper crumples in front of him. Peggy leans on the kitchen table, pinching the bridge of her nose. A sharp intake of breath. A slow, shaky release.

“You don’t know. I was broken. I blamed myself. For the longest time…” Her fingers are turning white, pressing into the wood.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Steve drags his hands down his face and leans back in his chair.

“Well, it bloody felt like it.” Peggy huffs. “I’ve had that nightmare over and over. I see you lying there, bruised and bloodied and frozen. And now you’re here. I need time, Steve.”

Gentle birdsong breaks the thick silence filling the room. The tea and coffee are cold now, untouched. Peggy crosses the room and wraps her arms around Steve’s shoulders, her chin resting in the crook of his neck. He clutches her hand. She can feel his heartbeat. Steve presses his cheek to hers.

“I’m sorry.”

Now it’s Peggy’s turn to say “I know.”

They stay entangled in each other for what feels like an eternity. Afraid to let go.


End file.
